had been upset
by his financial troubles. With his arm around her, he had told her how
young and pretty she still was, and how sad it made him when he thought
he had ruined her life and brought her all these weary miles from home,
his contrition being apparently so genuine, that she had determined to
trust him once more, and would have told him so had she not gone into
her room to change her dress, only to find that he had pawned the few
remaining trinkets and articles of wearing-apparel she possessed, in
order to try his luck in a neighboring pool-room.

She had realized, then, where she stood. There was but one thing for
her to do and that was to hunt again for work. She had been an expert
needlewoman in her better days and this knowledge might earn her their
board.

With this in her mind, she had consulted a woman, living on the floor
above, who had often spoken to her when they passed each other on the
stairs, and who was employed in a department store on 14th Street
near Broadway, the result being that Stiger & Company had given "Mrs.
Stanton" a place in the repair shop, her wages being equal to her own
and Dalton's board. This had continued all through the summer, her
earnings keeping the roof over their heads, Dalton leaving her for
days at a time, his invariable excuse for his absence being that he was
"trying to get employment."

Finally--and again her eyes burned, and the color mounted to her hot
cheeks as she reached this part of her story--there had come that last
awful, unforgettable December night.

She had come home from work and had put on a thin silk wrapper, too well
worn for pawning, when the door of their little sitting-room was opened
and Dalton entered, bringing two men with him. One of them kept his hat
on as he talked, the other slouched his from his head after he had taken
a seat and had had a chance to look her over. The three had come upon
her suddenly, and she, realizing her dishabille, had risen hastily,
excusing herself, when Dalton, who was half tipsy, stepped between her
and her bedroom door.

"No, you'll stay here," he had cried; "you're prettier as you are. I
never saw you so fetching. Don't mind them, they're friends of mine.
We've ordered up something to drink."

She had stood trembling, looking from one to the other, her heart
hammering wildly. No man had ever addressed her with such insolence and
before such company. What she feared was that something would snap in
her and